


blue-eyed lover boys

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: I'm Gonna Have Myself A Real Good Time [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) RPF
Genre: 70s!Roger, Chapter 5 is just filthy smut, Don't think about how the potential time travel works okay?, Family Feels, Fluff, Mildly saucy but no full smut yet, Multi, Polyamory, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: Someone asked me "imagine being in a relationship with Ben & 70s!Roger" and so I did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: can u imagine bein in a relationship with 70’s rog & ben 😳🤤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1970s)
> 
> The message that started it all.

this….. this is a lot longer than i intended it to be

yUM. also, everyone’s poly and queer because this is a fantasy damnit, but also like… im imagining like going back in time i guess, or you’re in the 70s too and ben gets pulled back in time?? but also think how fucking editorial the three of you would look; there’s several paparazzi shots of you in the back of limousines before the window has been fully wound up, and you’re all drunk, ben’s in the middle, you’re leaning in to kiss him and and roger has an arm around him, looking at you both with a look in his eyes that probably shouldn’t be printed in newspapers. 

even though all three of you are open about you relationship, tabloids still like to print gossip pieces, so eventually there becomes like a genre of queen photo that’s just the three of you in different pair arrangements pashing and flipping off the camera

there’s also a series of photos of the three of you, ben sitting in an armchair, roger sitting on the side of it with his arm across the back of the chair, his forehead pressed to ben’s, the two of them smiling mischievously, with you sitting in ben’s lap and also the only one paying attention to the photographer, halfway through taking a drink. the second photo is you spilling the drink on yourself and the boys realising what’s happened, and the third is roger almost falling off the chair from laughing as ben looks around for a cloth and you look like you can hear the Sound of Silence playing in your mind.

you and ben surprise him at a tour stop, waiting side of stage after the show, and ben picks him up and spins him around, and when he puts him down, Roger hugs you, and gives you both a kiss, and you all proceed to get  _very_ tipsy in the post-show adrenaline high.

roger’s far more handsy in public, he loves having you in his lap, and he loves having his arm around ben, and he hugs you from behind and kisses your neck when you’re talking to people.

roger teaches ben how to play the drums and watching them like that gets you all hot and bothered, enough that you have to leave the rehearsal room. ben comes to check that you’re okay, still a bit sweaty and out of breath, and okay maybe the lesson had turned a bit nsfw towards the end, and when he takes you back into the room, roger’s smirking as he plays and so you and ben just watch for a bit, marvelling at him, and he knows  _exactly_ what you’re both feeling. as soon as the impromptu drum solo ends, he’s gesturing with a smirk for you to both join him on the drum risers.

waking up next to both of them feels so damn secure; ben’s usually got an arm slung over your hip, while roger’s got a hand on your chest, and ben gives you a sleepy morning smile, and a gentle kiss, and roger’s voice is rough and he’s just like…..  _mmm hot,_ but he sounds so fond when he says it, which makes you and ben laugh and it’s  _so warm and nice._

there’s arguments, sure, usually between yourself and roger, and it’s more like foreplay than actual fighting a lot of the time. like, someone does a documentary about queen during one of their tours, and during one of brian’s talking heads after one of the shows (probably after the smashed drum kit incident), you and roger are yelling at each other far off in the background and ben is watching from an armchair behind you two;

interviewer: so is there ever a point where you think the anger has gone far enough, like, ‘alright, they need to calm down’

and just as they say that, the tension breaks and you and roger just start making out and brian in the foreground sighs and hangs his head as you reach for ben’s hand and the three of you leave to go,  _ahem,_ relieve some tension.

also, not to be nsfw, but….  _ahem_


	2. Post-Sex Cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Three words: Post. Sex. Cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1970s)

fam, this is a big yes imagining both Ben and Roger, like it’s bad for u but god it’s hot sometimes. also, i know this is an old one, but also consider; ben/70s roger/reader ??

not to be NSFW but you’re honestly fucked out, a little sore (in a very good way), coming down from your orgasm and feeling like you’re melting into the bed.

“how’re you feeling, love?” roger asks, and you make a weak ‘come here’ gesture, coaxing him in for a kiss with a blissful smile and contented hum, which makes both he and ben laugh. ben presses a kiss to your shoulder and is already moving to get up and find himself a pair of track pants.

he moves around the bed to roger, who’s sitting up, and already up to kiss him too. moving to get up and find some sort of pants too. you give yourself a few more moments of bliss, watching the boys head out to the balcony, before you go to the bathroom to freshen up a little, before throwing on some underwear and a shirt and joining them outside. the flat has a balcony, and you’ve managed to cram an old, squishy two-seater on it. the boys are there, leaving space for you by one side, sharing a cigarette and looking up at the stars.

they talk about everything and nothing, maybe groceries, maybe songs, maybe life the universe and everything, but you’re tucked up against roger’s side, head on his shoulder, drifting off a little. there’s a lull in the conversation, ben’s finishing off the cigarette and roger’s lighting up another, and you yawn, eyes tired, and still a little heady from earlier.

“i love you guys.” you tell them, and roger takes a long draft of his cigarette.

“we love you too.” ben is the first to answer; you hadn’t really been looking for a reply, you’d said it to them before, but never part of this little ritual they had, not when you were so vulnerable that they couldn’t mistake it for anything other than real. you reach out across roger for him, and he smiles gently at you, taking your hand.

“you’re pretty alright.” roger says through a lungful of smoke, expression faux disinterested. he’s still got an arm around you, holding you close.

“roger, you’re easily in the bottom 2 of boyfriends i’ve got.” you tell him with all the seriousness you can muster, and he looks at you with an amused smile, passing the cigarette to ben, who was watching the whole exchange with a fond smile.

“you know i love you.” he says, voice surprisingly gentle, kissing you sweet and slow; he tastes like ash and you know it’s bad for him but it also tastes so damn familiar that it eases something in your chest. “does that put me back in the top 2?” he asked, mischievous, and you look over to ben, as does roger, and he gives a nod of confirmation, joining in on the bit.

“after much consideration i think you’re tying for first.”


	3. take comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1970s)

You hadn’t come to bed last night, at least, not until the very early hours of the morning, and you’d been grinning as you sat in the living room over your latest project, with that gleam in your eyes that meant you were going to work through this obsession until you tired yourself out. It had been a few nights like that, despite both Ben’s best effort’s and Roger’s dirtiest, you hadn’t budged. It did, however, mean that there were some days where you’d wake up sprawled out on the sofa with a blanket over you, and too little time to get ready for work, and if you were being honest, you could feel yourself becoming overwrought. 

“ _I’m working, I’m working_.” You’d grumbled when Ben had asked if you were okay, when he found you at three in the morning with the television still on, staring off into space, when he’d just come out to grab a glass of water.

“Love, you need to sleep, please, you’ve got work in the morning, come to bed.” He asked, holding out a hand to you. Regarding it for a moment, you frowned, before waving it away.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec, just-” and you trailed off, going back to your work. He sighed, but he didn’t press you about it.

When you wake the next morning on the sofa - which is  _not_ where you’re pretty sure you fell asleep, since you remember thinking the carpet had such a nice texture in your bleary, exhausted state - there’s a glass of water on the coffee table. Something warms in your heart at the sight, and you feel a little bit of guilt for being so dismissive last night. Despite just waking up, there’s exhaustion settling into your bones when you look at the clock and realise you’re almost late for work.

You spill the water when you try and drink it as you’re scrambling about the now-empty flat looking for your uniform, you close the door on your finger when you leave, and you’re only at work for fifteen minutes before you drop a glass, and manage to cut your hand pretty badly cleaning it up. Your manager takes one look at your exhausted, dishevelled state, and tells you to go home.

And so, gently gauzed, and running on about four hours of sleep, you trek back to your flat. 

Okay, so maybe,  _finally,_ you can admit that you’ve overworked yourself, that you’ve been burning the candle at both ends and that it hasn’t been good for you. Not that you’d  _actually_ admit that out loud, but when you enter the flat and feel your heart swell so much with love and relief at the sound of Roger and Ben chatting in the living room that you feel yourself starting to cry, it’s close enough to an admission as you were probably going to get.

“You’re home early.” Roger smirks at the sound of the door closing, but then he turns to look through the doorway into the kitchen where you’re standing, and he sees the way you’re holding your hand and how you’re so close to tears, and he’s on his feet in an instant. “What’s wrong, love?” He asks, and the concern in his voice is enough to have Ben by his side, and the two of them are with you in an instant. The moment they both wrap you up in a hug, you feel yourself start to buckle as sobs begin to escape you.

“It’s okay, love, okay? You’re alright.” Ben murmurs, looking up to catch Roger’s eye, the two of them nodding to each other before they guide you to the bedroom, sitting you down on the edge as you sobbed into your non-injured hand.

“What happened here?” Roger asks gently, taking your injured hand as Ben had already headed to the bathroom to find the medical kit. You couldn’t even answer, just curled up against him, taking comfort in the way he was rubbing your back. 

Ben knelt in front of you, carefully taking care of the cut on your hand, as Roger pressed a kiss to your jaw and murmured that it was going to be okay. As soon as it’s bandaged up, your injured hand joins your other one, holding your face as you sniffle and sob. Ben doesn’t move, just rests his hands on your knees, looking up at you.

“I’m so sorry I snapped at you.” You manage, voice watery, and his answering smile is so sweet and understanding it almost makes you feel worse in your current state.

“It’s okay, love, you’re tired.” He tells you gently, and you nod weakly., lip trembling when you drop your hands, and he feels his heart melt at the sight of your teary, exhausted face.

“I’m  _so_ tired.” You agree, and it’s as if you’ve spoken the magic word, because the boys start moving gently, Roger unbuttoning your work shirt as Ben went to fetch one of his shirts for you.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you comfortable.” And even Roger’s mention of the word comfortable has you still crying with relief and exhaustion in equal measure. With your shirt off, Roger deftly undoes your bra, throwing it to the side. He takes a moment, pressing a kiss to your collar near your shoulder, before he takes the shirt from Ben and helps your pull it on. With the shirt on, Roger gently takes your face in his hands, kissing you sweetly despite the fact that you were still teary. Ben kneels in front of you again, helping you shimmy out of your pants. You’ve got one leg free, legs parted just a little, and he presses a reverential kiss to your inner thigh, before freeing your other leg. Once you’re comfortable, they maneuver so that all three of you are sitting side by side on the bed, back against the headboard, you in the middle, wrapped up in them.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been…” you sniffle, reaching out almost from muscle memory alone, and you tuck your arm into Roger’s as he rests a hand on your thigh, and Ben links your fingers with his, giving your hand a squeeze. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, but they get the gist.

“You’ll have to stay in bed for a week with us to make up for it.” Roger chuckled, and you let out a watery laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not opposed to that.” Ben’s smirk is clear in his words, and when you turn to him, a little, disbelieving smile on your face, his expression melts into something fond, and he uses his free hand to gently wipe the tears from your cheeks. “You need to get some rest, love.” And he kisses you so gently. You lose yourself in the feeling, the warmth and calmness he radiates, before pulling back.

“But my project-” you try weakly, despite the fact that you already know their answers.

“Not until you’re well rested.” Roger says firmly, sitting forward to pull at the duvet at the end of the bed. You went to protest but Ben’s eyebrows rose as he looked over your shoulder at Roger.

“You know he’ll chuck it out the window if you try anything.” He warned, and you hear Roger hum in agreement. Turning to look at him, he seems very adamant in his nodding.

“Right out the window.” He agreed. “It should be glad I don’t do it now, considering how much pain it’s cause you.” 

“No, it’s, it’s-” Honestly it’s getting past the point of being fun anymore, you’ve stopped enjoying it and sort of start loathing the time of night that you’ve dedicated to working on it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” and by the time you’ve snapped out of your own thoughts, the duvet has been pulled up your legs and Roger’s trying to shift you to lying down.

“It’s the middle of the day.” You say softly, still a little sniffly, and you see Ben and Roger share a look.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to sleep in a bed; but you look like your dying.” Roger told you after a beat of hesitation and Ben added.

“You look exhausted, love.” He agrees, quickly, and you feel your lip beginning to tremble again as a wave of tiredness hits you, and you wriggle down beneath the covers, heels of your hands pressed to your eyes as tears threaten to escape again.

“You guys don’t have to do this.” You swallowed thickly, and there was a beat of silence before each of them had wrapped an arm around you, pressing themselves close to you.

“This is what  _this_  means,” Roger said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and his expression is so gentle where he’s looking resting his chin on your upper arm. His gaze flicks to Ben, his smile turning cheeky and fond. “Well, it’s part of what  _this_ means.” And this time he gestured between the three of you before his hand slips beneath the duvet to pinch your hip. You yelp, laughing out of shock, shifting to your side, your back to Roger, who just rests his chin on your shoulder.

Ben’s amused, it’s clear by his smile, but there’s so much love and affection in his gaze that it almost overwhelms you. He’s sitting up, and he gently reaches out to brushes a thumb over Roger’s cheek, before doing the same to you, his gentle touch lingering.

“He’s right.” He says gently, and you know without even looking that Roger’s entire face has lit up.

“Of course I am.” He agrees easily, his hand reaching beneath your shirt to gently cup one of your boobs, in a gesture that was surprisingly reassuring, and you find yourself giggling.

“Yeah,  _okay_ , he is right about  _that_ ,” Ben snorted, but then he’s back to being fond, “but love,  _this_?  _Us_? Of course we’re going to be here; really, there’s nowhere I’d  _rather_ be.” His smile is bright and genuine, and it warms your heart.

“You’re gonna make me blush, come here.” Roger laughs, and Ben leans over you to press a kiss to his lips, Roger’s hand gently squeezing your boob where he was still holding it, causing  _you_ to blush. You smack his arm. Both he and Ben break apart laughing, but Ben leans in to kiss you too.

“Come on, you need your rest, love.” Ben shimmied down to lay beside you, taking one of your hands while Roger had a hand resting on your hip. Roger pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade and you let yourself relax, finally let yourself catch up on the sleep your so desperately needed in the arms of your two favourite people.


	4. my baby's a public menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Iconic Moments The Press Had A Fucking Field Day With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (2018)
> 
> So this time we’ve got Modern Times with 70s!Roger pulled forwards in time. Don’t think too hard about how it works it just does.

**1\. It Becomes Official**

The moment they call Ben’s name at the BAFTAs, to receive the award for Lead Actor in a Television Series, you feel like the whole world is coming to a stand still, and Ben’s rising, disbelief written all over his face. 

“That’s me.” He says, quietly, as the applause has already begun, and then Roger’s on his feet, beaming, and he wraps his arms around Ben, pashing him directly in front of the camera that was catching every moment, and Ben kisses him back easily, before turning to you, eyes bright, and he pulls you to your feet, giving you a kiss as well.

“Congratulations, babe.” You murmur, and he’s so fucking ecstatic when he pulls back, and heads into the aisle, heading towards the stage. You slide into his seat with ease, lacing your fingers with Roger’s where he’s bouncing with energy and beaming with pride. 

“He fuckin’ won.” Roger laughs with a little disbelief, and you turn to each other, both absolutely radiating with pride and adoration.

“Our boy did it.” You giggle, and Roger’s gaze dips to your lips for a moment before he looks back up, a new spark in his eyes that you knew all too well.

“I can’t wait ‘til we all get home.” He dropped his voice low, and you could feel yourself growing a little flustered at the suggestion.

“Keep it in your pants, dear,” you nudged him, and he barked out a laugh, giving you a wink before he turned to where Ben was finally walking across the stage. You, however, felt your heart stop in your chest, “he kissed us  _on camera_.”

“Well, _I_ kissed  _him_ ,” Roger mused, his thumb rubbing against the side of your hand, “couldn’t help myself.” He admitted, still beaming as Ben was handed his award, expression bright and a little disbelieving as he leaned into the microphone.

“I think I just won a BAFTA and outed myself in the same minute, so that’s going to be hard to beat next year.” Is the opening line of his speech, and the audience titters with polite laughter, while you and Roger are hiding your snorts. “I actually had to email the organisational committee to ask them to let me bring more than one plus one, I’m glad to see that it wasn’t in vain.” He laughs; he goes on to thank the crew of the show he worked on, the other cast members, his family, and he looks for you and Roger in the audience, pointing the award at you. “And for Rog and Y/N, of course; the weirdest and best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

“Do you think he knows how much we wanna suck his dick?” You lean over to Roger, whispering under your breath, amused smile on your lips at you look up at your boyfriend grinning on stage.

“Of course he does, look at that smile.” Roger responds with a low chuckle as Ben leaves stage, heading back towards you. When he gets back to his seat, you move back to your own seat, resting your head on his shoulder when he sits down.

“We’re so proud of you, baby.” You tell him softly as they’re beginning the next segment on stage, and Ben reaches out with his free hand to rest it on your thigh, giving you a squeeze.

“I know, love.”

**2\. Roger Throws Half A Chicken At A Paparazzi**

“Do you think we should go inside?” You ask, voice low as you catch sight of a man in a baseball cap and dark glasses covertly trying to take photos of you three. It was a nice evening, you, Roger, and Ben had been enjoying a meal outside at an upscale restaurant, the three of you draped on a two person outdoor lounge, your entrees having just been cleared up. Both you and Ben are on your phones, and Roger’s between the two of you, nose buried in the paper.

“Why?” Ben asks, not looking up from his phone, and you shift a little uncomfortably, giving the man trying to look like he’s not taking photos.

“Hey, dude, can you just leave us alone? We just wanna get dinner.” You call to the man, and he stands, a little flustered.

“So it’s true, you’re really dating both of them?” He calls back, stashing his phone in his pocket, pulling out a little recording device; the asshole came prepared.

“No, we’re just  _really good friends_ who make out at the BAFTAs.” Roger rolls his eyes, folding up the paper, and throwing the paper onto the table in front of him.

“No need to get snarky, mate, I just think it’s weird that somebody like her would get on so well with-” He’s cut off just as a kind and beleagured waitress puts down what looks like half a roast chicken surrounded by salad onto the table.

“Fuck off, alright?” Ben snaps at the man, clearly irritated, sitting up straighter, giving the waitress an apologetic smile as she leaves in a hurry.

“The hell do you mean ‘ _someone like her’?!”_ Roger growls, and you actually have to put a hand on his chest where he’s leaning forward, as if getting ready to throw himself at the reporter.

“I- do you wanna address the rumours then, Y/N about-” The man starts, but Roger cuts him off with a snarl.

“If this bastard brings up those fuckin’ gold digger accusations, I’m gonna start throwing things.” He warns, and not a moment later, the man brings up the very words Roger had told him not to. You’re just heaving a heavy sigh, used to being hounded by the gossip magazines, though you try not to pay them any mind.

“I could shout how much I love you from the rooftops and these assholes would still think this is some sort of weird, sugar daddy situation.” Ben turns to you, his voice low as he gives you a long suffering smile. You lean in across the empty space that Roger had just vacated to give him a kiss, before turning to where Roger was wielding his roast chicken like a grenade, lobbing it at the reporter, yelling about how he’s ‘ _sick and tired of hearing people talk shit about his girlfriend; she’s got more kindness and talent in one tit than the paparazzi has in his whole body’._

 _“_ We should probably get him before he does any real damage.” Ben muses, to which you agree. The two of you move to collect your rogue boyfriend as he continues to yell and squirm.

“Baby, baby please calm down; you’ve made a scene, you’ve thrown a chicken, you’ve mentioned my tits, we can have dinner at home.” You try to placate him, your arm tucked in his as Ben’s got an arm around his shoulders, the two of you guiding him from the restaurant.

“Just makes me so bloody mad.” Roger growls his hands on your hips where you’ve got your arms around his waist as Ben pays for your half finished meals. “It’s twenty eighteen, you’d think dickheads would learn to grow up.” He huffed.

“I know, baby.” You muse, bringing him in for a kiss to distract him, hoping to let his anger simmer down a little as you two stand in the parking lot. 

“I just love you is all, people like that make me so pissed-” He whispers, more to himself than anything, but then you’re kissing him again, humming affirmations, your hands in his hair.

“I love you too, I love you too.” You murmur against his lips.

Later that night you’ll see Ben’s instagram story from just before he joins the two of you again. You and Roger, arms around each other, lit by a single streetlight, you’re leaning in to him, lips inches from his, and he’s smiling gently back at you; the whole image is surprisingly intimate, especially for Roger. It’s captioned ‘ _I’m allowed to take candids ‘cos they love me’._

**3\. Someone Gives Ben Tequila**

Ben’s not usually the type to get drunk and reckless. Or well, he’s the type to get drunk on occasion, but not reckless, not like Roger, who can be incredibly reckless even while sober, nor like you, since you could go either way. Ben was meant to be the grounded one. Except sometimes he has tequila. It’s an afterparty for a movie he’d gotten a supporting role in, it’d been fun, but he was looking forward to being able to spend time with you and Roger again. Speaking of the two of you, you’d disappeared almost half an hour ago, Roger had gone to the bathroom and you’d gone to get more drinks.

When he finds you, you’re trapped in an uncomfortable conversation with one of the editors assistants’, a weedy kid who couldn’t seem to figure out that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Hi, baby!” You call out to Ben the moment you think he’ll be able to hear you over the music, and he makes a beeline for you, his heart singing when he sees your face light up.

“Hello, love, I was wondering where you’d gotten to.” He says, barely acknowledging the guy you’d been talking to, who’s own expression fell as Ben pressed a kiss to your lips. The two of you head off in search of Roger, who you find by the bathroom, talking with someone who’s clearly quite enamoured with him. From his easy stance and casual smile, you could tell he was at least enjoying the woman’s company. Neither you nor Ben were usually the jealous type, but after a few drinks, you couldn’t be blamed for just wanting to stake your claim.

“Hey, babe, who’s this?” Ben asks, slipping an arm around Roger’s shoulders as you stepped around to loop your arm through his on his other side. Roger, with a sly, knowing smile, looks between the two of you, before smiling brightly at the woman who’d been talking to him.

“Like I was saying, this is my boyfriend and girlfriend; you’ll have to excuse them, they get jealous easily.” He smirked, and the woman looked a little shocked, a little flustered, as she stuttered her way through an apology. “It’s no worry, I’m sure they can entertain themselves for a while,” and with that, he winked at you. Taking the hint, you moved, taking Ben’s hand and leading him away.

“He’s just being a social butterfly, you know how he is.” You mused gently, the two of you flopping onto a sofa. Ben hums thoughtfully, sitting beside you, your hand in his. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, trailing kisses up your neck to your jaw.

“‘m not jealous.” He said, lips at the corner of yours, pressing another kiss there before he brings his hand up to cup your cheek, moving so you’re smiling over your shoulder at him, “it’s just nice to say you guys are mine.” And his voice is low, almost a growl, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“I like the sound of that.” You tell him, kissing him hard, letting his hands wander and pull you close to him.

“Mine?” He asks, and his hand is on your thigh, moving your legs so you’re sitting over him rather than next to him.

“Yours.” You agree, kissing him again, messy and passionate, you can taste the alcohol on his lips and his tongue but you don’t care when he’s leaning you back to lie on the sofa. “And Roger’s.” You add quietly, and there’s a gleam in Ben’s eyes where he’s looking down at you, his arm around you, one hand on your waist.

“You’re ours, love, there’s no doubt about it.” He assures, and he leans in to kiss you again. 

“I can’t take you two anywhere!” Roger’s grinning when he finds the two of you, and Ben presses his laughter into your collar as you look up at Roger and make an insistent, grabby hand for him. “If you insist.” He chuckles, sinking to his knees to join you at your level, kissing you where you’re splayed out on the sofa, with Ben all but on top of you. “You know there’s a perfectly good bathroom not too far from here.” 

Not ten minutes later, one of the other cast members sends to the cast group chat, in all capitals ‘ _BEN’S BANGING IN THE BATHROOM’_ which was met with either ‘ _at least they’ve freed up the sofa’_ or ‘ _lmao called it’._ You’re not surprised, nor are you ashamed, when some gossip rag has your face on it (or more accurately,  _Ben’s_ face) the next morning, and a riveting account of what happened with no actual details, and a photo someone took on their phone of you and Ben on the sofa. It wasn’t the first time, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

**4\. Roger Gets Instagram**

Roger takes  _surprisingly_ well to instagram, which is both hilarious and terrifying. He posts a lot of selfies; he takes to being an instagram fuckboi like a duck takes to water. At first it’s mostly blurry shots, of sunlight, sometimes it’s you and Ben out of focus, laughing, or he gets one of you two to take a photo of him, shirtless. 

When he gets a waterproof phone, the first thing he does is take a photo of you and he kissing underwater at the beach, and then three separate, all individually hilarious videos of Ben trying and failing to do a majestic hair flip coming out of the water; in the last one, both boys get hit by a huge wave, and the video ends with you laughing, fishing the phone out of the surf.

The three of you go on holidays to somewhere sunny, and at the end of the week, he posts the highlights; you lying on your stomach beneath a palm tree on the beach, topless; a selfie of the three of you smiling at the camera against a backdrop of a starlit sky, golden in the light of a bonfire; Ben in a coconut bra, a little blurry with the movement of laughter, grinning at you just out of shot; you, in bed, making a truly terrible face where he’s just woken you up and the sun’s in your eyes. His favourite, however, is the one from him at the end of the holiday, shirtless and tanned, shot from the waist up, biting his lip as he’s turned to look off to the left, showing off how he’s covered in hickies.

The shots that get the most media attention are his more risque ones, like the shot on his story that you’d taken where you could see the bottom half of his face all the way down to his hips, with a sheet covering his modesty, but a lipstick kiss mark along his V-line and his tongue out. (There’s a followup photo on your instagram story, of your lipstick smeared, grin wide, and your hair messy, with the caption, ‘ _sometimes you just gotta be a messy bitch’,_ and people put two and two together, and conservatives  _lost it_.) 

The most infamous actual post of his is the shot of you and Ben together in bed, he’s leaning against the headboard, still mostly laying down, and you’re draped over him, chin resting on his chest where the two of you are grinning about something. The sheet covers most of your ass, and comes up to Ben’s hips, and you’re giving the camera some pretty glorious side boob, and the photo’s framed to show room for one more person beside you in the bed, a sliver of sunlight shining through the curtains, across Ben’s chest and your back, and it’s just captioned ‘ _what a sight’._ He’d asked you both before posting it, and you’d both agreed; it didn’t violate any guidelines, but social media still had a field day with the sweet, clearly post-coital photo.


	5. holiday cheer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fucking filthy. Y/N doesn’t celebrate Christmas but the boys do and so she got something for them anyways. The Big Smut Warning; threesome, some light bondage, unprotected sex, blowjobs, thigh riding, double penetration, anal.

“Good morning, my sugarplum fairy.” And Roger looks like he regrets the nickname as soon as it comes out of his mouth, since when you turn to look at him over your shoulder, he’s wrinkled his nose. “‘morning, love.” He restarts, and your confusion and slight hatred for the initial nickname melted away as he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” You murmur, voice soft as he rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hands resting on your stomach, fingers toying with the edge of your red, floor length, silk robe.

“What are you wearing? I don’t remember this.” You can hear the grin in his words as he pulls at the loose tie around your waist and you slap his hand away.

“That’s a joint present; don’t ruin the surprise.” You grinned, and he gently spun you around, his eyebrows raised in surprise, careful not to spill the drink in your hands.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas.” He said seriously, and you had to bite back an amused laugh.

“Yes, I am aware.” You said, a little bit patronisingly, and he gave you a confused smile. “I know you guys got things for me, even though I told you I didn’t want anything-”

“You know we like to spoil you.” Roger but in, and you gently put your cup down on the bench, stepping towards him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know, so I got you both something. It’s not much, but I’d thought you’d like it.” You move in, pressing a kiss to his lips, and you can feel his hand slip beneath the edge of the robe, settling at your hip, toying with the fabric he found resting there.

“I’ve never been patient when it comes to presents.” He murmurs, voice low, and you have to grab his hand.

“Roger it’s a surprise!” You laugh, lacing your fingers with his by your hip to keep his wandering hand busy. 

“Don’t be a tease.” He groans, and you kiss him again, letting go of his hand to thread your fingers through his hair, and his hand finds its way to your ass, pulling you closer the other gripping the silk robe at your hip.

“Let’s go wake up Ben,” you grin, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. Roger gives your ass a firm squeeze before he’s off, headed towards the bedroom, looking frankly ecstatic.

“Ben it’s Christmas, and Y/N says we have to open her present together.” He’s grinning from ear to ear as he says it, and you can hear Ben’s sleepy groan as you saunter to the bedroom.

“She got us a present?” He asked, still foggy with sleep, and you can hear Roger’s slight groan.

“She most certainly did; now get up.” Roger demanded, sitting beside a still very horizontal Ben, who didn’t seem to want to budge.

“Do I have to? Can’t you guys bring it in here?” He asked, and Roger threw his head back, careful not to hit the headboard too hard as he let out an exasperated, impatient groan.

“I think that can be arranged.” You say from the doorway, voice low and sultry, which catches the attention of both boys. Ben looks far more alert. The silk tie of the robe comes undone with the barest of tugs and you shrug easily out of the gown, letting it pool on the floor by your feet; they’re looking at you like they’ve just seen an angel.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to us.” Ben says, awed, propping himself up. 

The lingerie is a rich red, lacy material thin but well fitted, and there’s a thin line of soft, white fur at the top of the cup of the bra, with hints of silver sparkles. The panties had that same fluff around the waistband, and there was a matching garter belt that held up a pair of sheer, white, sparkling socks that came halfway up your thighs. 

“You like it?” You asked, swishing your hips a little, grinning at your dumbstruck boyfriends. It wasn’t often Roger Taylor was found at a loss for words, and you decide, if nothing else, that made it all worth it. 

“Babe, come here.” Ben’s voice is still a little scratchy with sleep and you make your way to the bed obligingly, already a little tingly with anticipation. Slowly, deliberately you climb onto the bed, crawling towards them at a steady pace, kneeling between where they where both sitting on the bed, a hand resting on each of their thighs. 

“Careful, if you move too fast you might spook him.” Ben grinned, looking to where Roger was still wide-eyed, eyes roaming over your body almost hungrily. His hand moved to your hip, gently caressing the soft, white fur of the lingerie. But then your eyes find Ben’s and his gaze is so full of such love and genuine affection that it almost hurts, and he’s leaning in to kiss you. It’s soft, chaste, and your hands on both their thighs are moving higher, and finally Roger speaks.

“I’ve never had a girl put in effort like this before.” He says softly, fingers ghosting up your side to cup one of your boobs, and he turns to Ben, almost awed, “I mean, not like-” But Ben cuts him off with a kiss, reaching up to hold Roger’s face in his hands, secure, and when they break away, Roger’s a little breathless, words tumbling from his lips, “I love you.” And he gives your boob a quick squeeze where he’s still got a hand there. “You too.” He laughs a little breathlessly.

“I didn’t think you’d be so affected by it.” You admitted, smiling softly at him as your hand found it’s way beneath the waistband of his sweat pants, and his forehead comes to rest on Ben’s shoulder where Ben’s silently chuckling. 

“Christmas just gets to me, okay-?” And he sounds embarrassed and a little indignant but then you’ve got your hand around his cock, pumping it gently, and his words die in his throat, and his hand drops back to your thigh to give a firm squeeze. After a moment, you look to Ben, where he’s watching the two of you amused and affectionate, and your hand slides into his boxers to grasp at him too.

“Well, it’s your Christmas present; how do you wanna use it?” You asked, and it takes a moment, but then both of the boys are grinning, sharing a look, and you bite your lip, heart hammering in your chest.

“Darling how fast can I ask you to shut up and put your mouth on my cock before you become offended?” Roger asks, and you debate for a moment between making a snide remark, or sucking him off, and when you lean down wrapping your lips around his cock, he lets out a low, pleased chuckle. 

“No response sarcastic response? It really is a gift.” Roger says through a moan, reaching out blindly, his hand joining yours on Ben’s cock, and he murmurs how he can take care of him, and you hear Ben’s muffled noise of agreement. Taking a moment to pause and look up, Roger makes a needy whine against Ben’s lips when your mouth leaves him. You’re quick to resume, your hand rubbing up and down his now slick shaft, tongue swirling around his head where it’s already dripping with precum. 

After a moment you feel the bed shift, and Roger’s hand that had been on Ben’s cock comes to rest at your shoulder, before his fingers trail up to the back of your neck, toying with the hairs at the back of your neck as he rolls his hips to meet you, and you take him as deep as you can into your mouth, and you hear him let out a long moan that’s like music to your ears.

Then Ben’s hand is on your lower back, warm and gentle, before it moves to your hips and he’s coaxing your legs out from under you where you’re sitting. You know without even having to turn around, what he wants, and you take a moment to reposition yourself, one hand propping yourself up while the other clutched at Roger’s hip, on your knees with your ass in the air. 

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” Ben murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hip before he’s gotten ahold of the material of your already damp panties, that was more or less a glorified G-string, and he tears it away easily. “I’ll buy you a new one.” He assures, voice low as he throws the material away, and you feel his firm grip on your ass as he takes the moment to appreciate the view.

“You left the garter, right?” Roger asks, smirking at Ben over the top of you, and Ben grinned back, his answer coming in the form of him snapping the band from the garter to hold up your socks against your thigh, and you letting out a squeak. Shifting, you felt yourself grow wetter with anticipation as he moved from off the bed, rifling through the bedside draw. When he was back behind you, there was a quiet moment before you shivered, cold lube being applied to your pussy.

“You’re already so fucking wet,  _angel_ ,” he murmured, and you could feel as he slid the head of his cock against your slit. Your hips were already shifting, eager to feel him inside of you. Ben slides so easily into you, his hands on your hips so warm and steady. You moan around Roger’s cock, and he’s already so close that the vibrations almost send him over the edge, and he takes your face in his hand, pulling you up to kiss you roughly in a silent thanks, your hand taking over in that moment to continue to jerk him off before you’re back down, licking up his shaft before bobbing your head up and down on his cock. You’re moaning all the while, Ben hitting deep inside of you, his hands on your thighs and your ass, pulling your legs further apart and closer to him, burying himself in you with each stroke. Roger’s hand finds the back of your head and you know he’s coming when his hips snap up and he holds your head steady. He’s shuddering, curses falling from his lips as you are still whimpering and moaning around his cock. 

Roger starts laughing, syrupy and content when you move off of him and let your face fall against the mattress where you arms had been shaking from supporting yourself while Ben fucked you. Breathy gasps and ‘ _oh god oh god oh god’_ were tumbling from you as Ben pressed a hand to your lower back, pressing you further into the mattress, letting him fuck you deeper than he had been just a moment ago, and you’re already a whimpering mess.

You don’t even notice Roger’s moved until you feel his feather light touch against your arm, and you move to prop yourself up, but he gives you a mischievous smile, gently taking one of your hands. Ben’s slowed down a little, the hand that had been on your back moving between your legs, rubbing at your clit as he fucked you with long, deep strokes.

“I rather liked the wrapping.” Roger says gently, and he’s got the silk tie from your robe in his hands, tying it around your wrist before he looks to you for confirmation, and you’re nodding adamantly against the mattress, other hand coming to join the first behind your back. He ties your hands together easily and securely, the silk soft against your skin, and he holds the free end of the tie out to Ben.

“I got you a present.” He declares, sounding far too pleased with himself, and Ben actually slows to a stop, and you’re giggling against the mattress, though you’re still grinding against him. Ben gently tugs on the cord, and you feel the ache in your shoulders a little, though it’s not unpleasant. Then he’s leaning over you, his cock moving deep inside of you as he wraps an arm around you, his hand steady on your chest as he guides you up, still tugging on the silk tie every so often to remind you it’s there, since he can feel how you squirm every time he does, but never enough to truly hurt.

“Good girl.” He murmurs in your ear when you’re back’s pressed against his chest, your arms tied up between the two of you. Your breathing is coming in short, sharp pants, and he ghosts his fingers along the skin of your stomach just beneath your chest. “You’re so good to us.” And he grinds against you, hard and deliberate. Roger watches, expression hungry as your eyes flutter closed and you tip your head back against Ben’s shoulder, mouth falling open. 

Roger’s hands are cool when they reach between you and Ben to unclasp your bra, and he frowns for a moment as he tries to slide it down your arms, only to remember your hands are tied. After a moment of struggling, he breaks the straps and pulls the bra off, throwing it off to the side, and turns back to your now free tits, taking one in each hand gently, before he catches Ben looking over at the now broken piece of decorative underwear.

“This means we can start buying her lingerie, right?” He asks, voice hopeful, and you let out a heady laugh, half paying attention.

“Oh absolutely.” Roger agrees, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he leans over your shoulder and kisses Ben roughly, reaching down to grasp his balls as he fucks you. Ben swears against Roger’s lips before Roger breaks away, still playing with Ben, sinking down lower to the bed. Ben’s got his mouth against your shoulder, teeth digging in just a little to muffle himself, and Roger knows he’s close, and knows exactly how to get him there.

He’s got his thumb on your clit, rubbing gently, enough that you grind a little impatiently, pussy clenching where Ben’s cock is still moving inside of you, and his other hand plays with Ben’s balls, touches alternating feather light and firm, pushing him over the edge.

Ben holds you tight to him when he comes. He’s so fucking deep inside of you, and you’re so close, but he stills, one hand on your chest, the other pressing against your abdomen where you can feel him coming inside of you. He calls you angel, his lips against your neck, but you’re whimpering, grinding against him, incoherent and unsatisfied, and Ben chuckles softly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” His voice is a little breathless, but he’s sliding out of you, giving your ass a firm squeeze on the way, and you’re whining at the emptiness you feel.

“No, please,” you hear yourself saying, uncharacteristically desperate, heart fluttering in your chest as you tug a little against your restraints, “fuck me. Please fuck me.” The words spill from your lips as you look between Roger and Ben, Ben looking a little guilty, Roger looking smug, both of them looking like they’re into it.

“Give me a few minutes.” Ben gives you a look over as he says it, and knows it won’t take him long to be ready to go for another round, especially with the way you’re whimpering his name, his cum dripping down your thighs. 

“You know, I’d like to be fucked too.” Roger says, coaxing you over to him, and he pats his thigh invitingly, turning to Ben. “Personally, I think we should leave her like this; she’s making such a mess.” And his hands are on your hips where you’re rutting and grinding against his thigh, ‘ _please’_ s like prayers being pulled from you. 

“ _Please_ what?” Ben asks firmly, grinning as he shares a look with Roger.

“I wanna come,  _please please please-”_ You moan, gasping as Ben pulls at the silk tie, causing you to arch back, and Roger leaned forward to suck a nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. Ben reaches over, and you think that maybe he’s going to help you out, help get you off when your own hands are tied back, but then he’s got his hand on Roger’s cock and is watching you with a fond smile.

You’re riding Roger’s thigh wearing only a garter belt and thigh high socks, with your hands tied behind your back and Ben’s cum leaking from you, the moment you start begging and Ben’s starts jerking him off, Roger’s pretty sure he’s gone then and there. He wants nothing more than to be inside of you, and so he quickly unties your hands, and you reach for your aching pussy, but he lays you back on the bed, holding your hands above your head and sinking into you.

It’s slick and messy, you’re so wet and Ben’s cum is still warm inside of you, but you’re clenching around him, grinding and moaning as he presses sloppy kisses to your tits. Your legs wrap around him, heels digging into his back, pulling him closer, deeper, singing his praises amid incoherent, needy whines; it’s like music.

“Can I lend a hand?” Ben’s voice is breathy and amused, and Roger slows down where he’s thrusting into you, much to your displeasure.

“I’m sure she’s appreciate it.” Roger grins, and he helps you to your knees, pulling you flush against him, his cock still inside you as Ben moves to get the lube again. “It’s okay, darling, we’re gonna make you feel good.” And you move back, kissing him roughly, your hand in his hair as you grind on him.

“I know you will,” you breathe, and you spread your legs obligingly as Ben moves up behind you.

“Is this alright, is this okay?” He asks gently, spreading the cool lube against your asshole, and you nod, breaking away from Roger to pull Ben in to another kiss. He kisses you like you’re the ocean and he’s desperate to drown as he slowly,  _very slowly_ , eases into you, and Roger bites gently at one of your nipples. 

The fullness of having them both inside you like this is not a sensation you think you’ll ever get truly used to, but it’s one you love. They’re slow at first, moving out of sync so your breath catches every time they both thrust in deep at once. They’re hands are all over you, Ben’s got one on your hip, the other between yourself and Roger, rubbing at your clit, while Roger’s hand is on the back of your neck where you’re gasping with your forehead against his shoulder, and groaning about how  _fucking hot_ the whole situation is.

You’re so fucking close, and when your head tips back to rest against Ben’s shoulder, back arching as they both fuck you in a rough, unsteady rhythm, Roger takes to pinching your nipple with one hand, the other on Ben’s shoulder, keeping himself steady.

“Come on, babe, can you spread just a little more for us?” Ben’s voice in your ear sends shivers down your spine, and in your barely coherent state you open your legs a little wider, sinking just a little lower as they both thrust up into you. You cry out, almost in actual tears as they keep the harsh rhythm, both in sync as they fuck deep into you, and Ben’s fingers are relentless on your clit.

“Come on, darling, we just wanna see our beautiful gift enjoy herself.” Roger smirks against your shoulder.

When you cum it’s like seeing stars, you whole vision going white behind your eyes, so wrapped up in every sensation that’s happening around you, and it takes you a good long time to come back to reality. They’ve eased themselves out of you, laid you down on in the middle of the bed, and Roger’s passing Ben some tissues from the box on the bedside table. You try to waive them off, but your muscles are too relaxed to do any more than have your hand gently wave. 

“ _Angel_ , you’re so hot.” Ben presses a kiss to your jaw, and you give him a bashful smile.

“Love, you’re not allowed to get all blushy and embarrassed if you’ve just had both of us inside you.” Roger tells you, tissue in his own smirking at you, and you find yourself unsure of how to react, unable to settle on anything other than being flustered.

“Speaking of; were you joking about wanting to fuck? I’m ready to go if you are.” Ben grinned at Roger, who rose his eyebrows, half smile on his face as he sat back on his heels.

“You know I never kid about getting fucked, Ben.” After a beat, he looks to you, and then to the door of the adjoining bathroom. “But I think we should maybe take this into the shower.” And Ben leans across to press a kiss to his lips, and Roger reaches out to give your thigh a squeeze. “If you’re up to it, feel free to join us, darling.” He says as he breaks away, turning to you with an amused smile, watching as you prop yourself up to a sitting position.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You assured, knowing your legs would still be like jelly if you tried to stand up now. “And boys?” As they headed to the bathroom, you called out once more. “Merry Christmas.”


	6. the motley fool thus morals on the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 70s!Roger has met 2018!Roger. He doesn’t talk about it a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REAL SHORT. takes place in the ben/reader/roger universe but ben’s not in it, i just wrote a lot about him anyways. so let’s talk about the logistics of time travel. also no this wasn’t requested but it came to me and i had to write it. it’s not necessarily angsty, just existential.

Roger complains a lot about the present, or as he calls it,  _The Future_ , which, for the first few months of his arrival was pretty well warranted, and after that, it just become a habit.

“You know, I could get a deck of cigs for less than forty-five p. back in seventy two.” He’s on the balcony of your shared apartment, rolling himself a cigarette as the two of you sat and watched the sunset. Ben’s in the shower, and Roger’s balancing his pouch of tobacco on his knees. “Everything’s so expensive nowadays.” His voice is a grumble as he leans to lick along the edge of the paper, rolling up the cigarette and putting it between his lips.

“They’re trying to stop you smoking; it’ll kill you.” Tucking yourself up beside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, eyes on the golden glow of the horizon, red light bleeding out from the sinking sun and going on to stain the sky violet. 

“I’ve heard rolling your own is better for you.” He lights the cigarette and leans back against the seat, throwing an arm around you. ”It’s not like I know what havoc this time travel shit with wreak on me, I’m just tryna keep myself alive in the downtime.”

“You’re still smoking.” You point out, and he takes a long draft. The air is cool between you, the first of the twilight stars peering out overhead.

“It’s called an addiction, sweetheart,” Roger says, voice tight, before he exhales fully, “‘least it is nowadays.” He’s in a  _mood_ , and though he doesn’t get like this often, it’s easy to tell, especially when you call him out on it and he doesn’t immediately dismiss it. “I could smoke whatever I want,” he muses into the silence he’s created, “it’s not like I don’t survive.” 

You don’t have an answer for that because, well, there’s unequivocal proof that he’s right.

“I’ve met him, you know.” He says, tipping his head to rest gently on yours, before taking another draft and flicking his ashes onto the ground where he’d sweep them off the balcony later. 

“Who?” 

“Me.” It’s blunt, and warrants some type of response, but for the life of you, you can’t seem to fathom one. “The me from now, that is; I didn’t just look in a mirror and go mad for a few minutes.” He’s surprisingly blase about the whole ordeal, and you match his tone easily.

“Sounds like you came close.” He gives you a gentle shove at your words, snickering, but his expression soon sobers as he slips back into being contemplative. “How come you never told us? Did it go alright?” You ask, gentle, and Roger chuckles.

“If it went alright you’d think I’d be blabbing about it, or the old bastard would be here with us now,” he tsked loudly, sitting up a little straighter and shaking his head, “I don’t know when he got his balls cut off but the me that  _I_ know wouldn’t pass up  _this_ ,” and he gestures to himself, indignant at the very memory of his future-self rejecting him, “I mean, who would know how to fuck  _me_ better than  _me_?” He has a point, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing.

“You tried… to seduce yourself?” You asked, a little incredulous.

“Never got that far.” Roger grumbled, taking another draft. Silence once again stretches between the two of you; there’s more to the story, of this you’re sure, so for now you’re content to sit and wait as the sky grows steadily darker above you. “First thing he said was that ‘ _this is what those two kids meant’;_ did you and Ben go talk to him?” He asked, and you hummed thoughtfully.

“After the first time you disappeared,” you admit, and he hums, low and thoughtful, “we were worried, you know? Thought if anyone would know anything it would be, well, you.”

“He doesn’t remember anything, probably never will.” Roger says, and he can feel when you shift to look at him. “It’s not because he’s old or anything, or maybe, ‘s not like I’d know, he was bloody unrecognisable if I’m being honest.” Roger isn’t one to rant like this, not so seriously, not without humour, it was strange. His gaze was fixed on the horizon. “It’s a side effect of all of this, the memory thing that is; when I go back, it’s like I never left, like as soon as I’m brought here, time freezes back in the seventies, but the universe or whatever, it locks away all my memories of this, the future, probably so I don’t screw up the past.” He mused.

“But you remember us when you come back.” It’s difficult to wrap your mind around all of this, but he gives your shoulder a firm squeeze, knowing your trying.

“Only takes me about ten minutes now, to remember where I am, how to find you lot.” He laughs, and it sounds a little fond, enough to ease the tension in your chest that his ranting had caused. You didn’t like to see him like this, you wouldn’t begrudge him for it, but it made you worry. “It’s weird, you know, remembering that I’d forgotten everything, and then trying to see how far forward I’ve jumped this time; I wish time ‘d stand still here too.”

“The world waits for you.” You say softly, and he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“On occasion.” He agrees. “Meeting me from now made me realise something though,” and he sounds a little forlorn when he says it, and he stubs out his cigarette in the ash tray beside the sofa.

“What’s that?” You asked, and there’s was a long moment of silence. He can’t look at you.

“That one day I must just stop coming back.”


	7. eyes on the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader’s pregnant; she knows she has to tell Ben and Roger eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of the concept of pregnancy and pregnant!reader. (pokemon kids voice) What’s That Genre?! It’s [redacted].maybe fluff idk, a little drama, a little angst, have fun?? i lost the original prompt. i also have a few more ideas for pieces surrounding this (including an angst one which im a bit obsessed with omg) i’m also not too crash hot on the quality of this one so feedback would be appreciated!

From the moment you find out, you feel like you can hear a clock ticking. Perhaps it’s counting down; counting down as you wait in line at the drug store checkout after waking up nauseous for the fifth day in a row; counting down the two minutes you have to wait for that infuriating little piece of plastic to give you potentially life changing results. Roger complains sometimes about the world being too fast nowadays, too efficient, and the two minutes is up and a second blue plastic line appears, winding you though you’d been expecting it, you think, in some strange way, he might be right. Most likely, you think, it’s counting the seconds until you’re pretty sure your world’s going to change forever, and you might just lose two of the people you care most about.

The clock ticks loudest when you’re with them, when you’re watching Netflix together and Roger’s draped himself across both of you and you’re running your fingers through his hair. He smiles up at you, booping your nose as the next episode loads, and your answering smile is tight. The show’s theme song is playing before he can really worry about it. 

It ticks when you’re sitting across from Ben at the table, and you’re both still in your pyjamas, he’s eating a banana and you’re nursing a coffee, and he catches you looking through him, rather than looking at him, focused on your own thoughts. He asks you what’s wrong, confused, even a little concerned; you’d been acting weird for almost a week now and he hadn’t wanted to push but-

But ‘ _it’s nothing, I’m fine’_ comes more easily to you than the truth.

He leaves for his set, and you leave for yours, and Roger’s still asleep but there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll show up at around lunch at either one of your shoots, but part of you hopes he’ll spend the day with Ben if he does.

Things are going  _so well_ right now, and it’s the only thought in your mind when you’re waiting for your name to be called by the barista currently making the director’s coffee order. The rush of steam, the clinking of mugs, and the chatter of patrons makes a beat in your mind to the ticking only you can hear. You tap your foot in time to it, trying to talk yourself out of the conversation you knew you were going to have soon.

They both know you’re sick in the mornings, that nausea sometimes just hits you out of nowhere, that you definitely shouldn’t be working, but you’re claiming illness for the first part, quarantining yourself to the sofa, and it helps that your anxiety eases if they’re avoiding you just a little, to stay healthy; you claim capitalism as to why you keep working.

When you lie, tell them that you’re feeling better, that you’re getting over whatever was ailing you, Ben suggests a weekend away, away from the flat, away from the paparazzi, just  _away_ , another town for three days. Though of course hesitant, you can’t say no to him.

And you’d always favoured long car rides for uncomfortable conversations. You’re pretty sure it’s because the driver can’t look at you for too long, it makes you less anxious. 

“So,  _hypothetically,”_ you began, worrying your bottom lip as you fix your gaze on the lights of the highway passing you by. Everyone’s a little tired, a little tense; it’s been a long week since you’d taken those three different pregnancy tests in the bathroom of the mall. By now, both men were well aware there was something you weren’t telling them.

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” though it’s technically an agreement, you can tell Ben’s already unconvinced. By Roger’s hum alone you can hear his scepticism. After a moment of silence, apart from the hum of the car, you realise the ticking’s stopped; now or never.

“Do you guys, like, think about the future?” You ask, carefully casual; to no-one’s surprise, Roger’s the first to chime in.

“Obviously; I’m living some science-fiction fantasy, love, this  _is_ the future.” He snorted, but he just seemed amused more than anything, still unsure about how this led back to your mood from earlier.

“I don’t think that’s what she meant.” Ben said quietly, and you made a noise of agreement in the back of your throat. “About… about our future?” Ben’s watching the road, but his gaze on the steering wheel is white-knuckled; he’s already jumped to a million different conclusions, all of them leading to you breaking up with them in this car on this highway.

“The three of us.” You agreed easily, fidgeting and looking out the window.

“I figured we’d just see where it leads; why worry?” Roger says, surprisingly flippant, though he too seems to be slightly on edge, drawing similar conclusions to Ben. Which, at the time, you didn’t realise, far too stuck in your own head to notice their own anxieties.

“Well what if we had to?” You begin, but your eyes widen as you think about what you’d just said, how it sounded, and you finally read the atmosphere; “not  _worry_ , not really, just think about the future, that is.”

“You know we love you, right?” Ben’s voice is surprisingly soft, even a little desperate. Something about it, however, eases that quiet anxiety in your chest that you had been trying to ignore.

“Do you guys think about our future?” You ask, and in the silence that follows, Ben pulls off to the side of the road. When the car comes to a stop the three of you are plunged into almost total silence, and somehow this is the single most claustrophobic moment of your life. “I do. I have to.” You admit, and your next words are spoken softly; “I’m pregnant.”

It seems you’ve broken both of them; Ben looks winded and Roger just keeps blinking, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You sure?” He finally asks. There’s that fear in your heart again, that anxiety, and tears in your eyes as you refuse to look at them, nodding quickly. You’d been  _so fucking afraid_ that they’d react badly, and you can feel your heart shattering just a little more-

“Holy shit are we gonna be parents?” Ben’s a little breathless, and sounds  _absolutely delighted_ at the prospect. “Like seriously, this isn’t a joke or anything, is it?” 

“Does it sound like a damn joke?” You snap, reeling from the whiplash of the reactions, but when you look at them, both boys are practically bursting at the seams with excitement. Roger practically launching himself over the centre console to hug you, and when he finally wiggles his whole way through and is sitting with you in the back, you’re shaking, wrapped up with him, pressing your lips to his shoulder. It takes you feeling cool air on your back to realise Ben’s gotten out of the driver’s seat to join the two of you. He’s laughing, almost disbelieving, and he kisses Roger’s cheek before wrapping his arms around your stomach, solid and reassuring at your back.

“Holy shit.” Ben murmurs, and you feel Roger laugh. It makes you smile, makes you feel safe in ways you hadn’t realised you’d needed.

“I know!” He crowed, giving you a little squeeze, and it’s enough to snap you out of your shock to let out a giggle. “God, we’ve gotta think about so much-  _why are their heads so soft?”_ Roger squints as he babbles, mostly coherent, still hugging you, his arms trapped between you and Ben where the other blonde refuses to let either of you go.

 _“_ That’s the first question you have?” Ben asks, and Roger hums thoughtfully, before immediately voicing his next thought.

“No; do we know which of us is the  _official_ dad?” He’s blunt about it, and despite the situation, the topic, and your very arrangement, you find yourself blushing as you finally sit up and admit that you don’t. After a beat of awkwardness, Ben rests his chin on your shoulder, the two of you watching Roger as he considered the situation.

“Does it matter?” He asked, and Roger’s face split into a grin.

“Not really.” 

Of course there’s so much to discuss; a movie star, a time-travelling drummer, and a personal assistant? There’s a lot that needs to be worked out, to be considered and talked about between the three of you, and you know it’s going to be hard, that it’s going to take work. You’re willing to put in that work. You’re  _all_ willing to put in that work. But for tonight, the three of you are content to celebrate; the future can wait a little while longer.


	8. the in between moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few moments from the reader’s pregnancy, and a few moments after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: (the writing demon holding my eyes open as I try to sleep: just because you closed your laptop doesn’t mean you’re free from me.) Anyways I wrote this on my phone and now it’s 4am. A bit angsty but happy ending.

It turns into a waiting game, and none of you like to talk about it. It’s easy, at first, to pretend like the universe is humouring you; the three of you invest in a bigger apartment, something closer to town with another bedroom, not that you all didn’t love the little flat you and Ben had been sharing since the start of all this, but it was too cosy for a family, you all decided.

Family; how strange that word sounded as you turned it over in your mind. It was, of course, inevitable for Roger, he’s got his  _real_  children -  _but what made them any more real than yours?_  - not that it matters to your version of him, at this point in time he’s just as in the dark as you and Ben are. For all your sakes you find it easiest to stay out of the spotlight. The moment you start showing, you quit your job; your current co-workers were well aware of your romantic entanglements, more than once Roger’s latest Instagram post had been the subject of on set gossip, the type that always went quiet and giggly the moment you entered the vicinity making it so clear they’d just been talking about you. They didn’t need to know about this. Ben promises to help you get your job back if you want it after the baby’s born, and you say you’ll consider it, but for now you enjoy the relative peace.

Ben takes Roger to red carpet events and when the press speculate about the state of your relationship, Roger actually manages to hold in his fury, though there’s a few photos with him in the background with his hand clenched so tightly it’s painful and white knuckled.

When he flops beside you on the sofa, forgoing the after party for the awards show, still riled up from the comment, part of him needs some small reassurance from you. Ben’s still at the party, getting drunk with his costars and messaging that he loves you both and that he hopes Rog got home safe. Roger, for his part, is sulking beside you, still mostly in his suit with his bowtie undone, the whole look doing very Unholy things to you in your hormonal state. It takes him a bit to actually admit what’s wrong, he’s champagne tipsy from the event and he’s distracted by the YouTube documentary you’d been playing in the background, but then your lips are pressed to his jaw, softly asking what’s wrong as you’re unbuttoning his shirt and he’s filled with conflicting emotions.

There’s no hesitation in him as he lays you back against the plush sofa, but there is hesitation when he comes to rest his hand on the gentle swell of your stomach, your old, ratty singlet riding up to expose a sliver of your skin. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t know how, the anxiety the reporter had brought out in his leading to a great that somehow held his vocal cords hostage. Despite this, you know what he needs to hear.

“I love you, Rog,” and your voice, like your hand where it comes to rest on his, is gentle, “and you clean up real nice.” With a smirk, your gaze drifts down his well tailored but vaguely disheveled suit ensemble, and you actually bite your lip. He wants to make a wise crack about your outfit of choice, a singlet that was practically falling apart and a pair of cotton pyjamas shorts that you used to complain about being too big for you, but seeing you here, like this, with his hand on your pregnant belly, he thinks you look  _absolutely stunning_.

When he kisses you, you’re grinning. Ben gets some very interesting and very lewd pictures that night, though you’re both asleep and rather fucked out by the time he gets home, he knows you both well enough to see the images as a promise rather than just mere teasing.

Both of them come to your doctor’s appointment when they can; the only had experience the three of you have, though you’re not even sure if the boys even notice, is when the ultrasound technician starts giving you these weirdly judgey looks when she realises that you don’t  _technically_  know who the father is.

“He’s got your melon alright,” Roger grins, leaning forward as he looks between the screen and Ben, eyes shining with amusement. Ben snorts.

“You’re blind, babe, and so’s that kid if those eyes keeping losing so much like yours,” with a smirk he turns to the politely confused nurse, “do they all look like aliens at this stage or is that just Rog’s genes?” And his gaze slid to where you were struggling not to laugh at their antics, his own smile endeared at the sight of your joy.

“No, that’s all you and your fat head, if anyone’s got alien genes it’s you,” Roger shoved at his shoulders before wrapping his arm around a now laughing Ben. “Maybe it’s Y/N.”

“I mean the kid’s definitely got her nose.” It’s the quickest and first thing they’ve agreed on about the baby since seeing the ultrasound. After your laughter has died down, you see the technician’s expression. The boys don’t notice, well maybe they think she’s a little catty when she says the alien look is pretty universal at this stage, that  _genetics tend not to play a factor just yet_ , but the way she’s regarding you makes you feel  _so small_  and a bit shameful. Which is fucked, you contemplate upon leaving, you’ve worked hard to earn a comfortable life with the men you love, and no bitchass sonographer is going to make you feel bad for that.

When you tell the boys back at home, they’re quick to agree, to physically remind you of the love that you’ve earned.

The nickname for the baby is technically Joe’s fault, he calls the baby Billie, since Ben almost exclusively referred to it as ’ _The Kid_ ’. Ben picks it up first, starts saying Billie the Kid, before you all just start shortening the joke to Billie.

Before they’re even born, the kid has a number of nicknames, your favourites being Billie Goat, Billiam, and Bandit, though that last ones only for when they’re kicking hard or leaning directly on your bladder. It takes until you’re all arguing about whether or not to put the kid’s name on the door for you all to finally talk about actually naming them. All of you have suggestions, of course, ideas for names that somehow just don’t fit right. You bring up the idea of waiting to actually see the baby to get a feel for the name, but it still doesn’t feel right.

“What if we just name them Billie?” Ben breaks the silence, and Roger is quick to him with agreement. You’d been calling the baby they for so long in your mind that at this point everything else felt unnatural.

“What if they want to become a lawyer or something equally dreadful?” Roger asks, and you can’t help but laugh at that.

“Well then we give them a fancier name on paper, but they’ll be our Billie.” You assure, voice dropping to a coo as you rest a hand on your rather large baby bump, as if assuring your unborn child.

Last names are a whole other argument.

Briellen Taylor-Jones was born three weeks premature, and with hey umbilical cord around her neck, and so you’d had enough time to concede on the last name debate, but not enough time to pick a middle name amid your panic. The first time you really get to hold her is a few days after she’s born; she’s been in an incubator and you’ve mostly been also, but in your arms she’s smaller than a loaf of bed, and sleeping soundly.

“This-” when the nurse had first passed her to you, both boys had been there, looking so proud it almost hurt. You couldn’t stop smiling, overwhelmed with joy, tears in your eyes, “this is our little Bandit, huh?” You ask softly, shifting as best you can to make room for both Ben and Roger on the little hospital bed. “Billie the Kid-  _our kid_.” You correct, and hold her close to your chest as tears of joy and exhaustion and of overwhelming cathartic release of the past eight months finally escape you. Both of your men wrap their arms around you, Roger’s head on your side and Ben pressing a kiss to your temple. With contentment in your heart, you think that Freddie said it best;  _no motherfucker in the universe is going to upset it._

But it’s still a waiting game until you forget what you’re waiting for, and that’s when the universe takes back what it did give so freely. This is all you can think when days later,  _a week_  after Billie’s been born, Roger’s gone.

You weep at the irony, but mostly because his  _absence hurt so fucking much_.

He goes back to the mid-Seventies and is blissfully unaware; Queen are blowing up, he tours and he fucks around and he sees John’s baby for the first time and his heart fucking aches for reasons he’s not quite sure of.

In the present, you and Ben… well it’s hard. A few weeks after Roger leaves and you find yourself in a doctor’s office being told you have post partum depression. Ben still works a lot, not because he wants to, he’d much rather be helping you with Billie, but he’s still under contract.

And then there’s Billie.

Nothing, not your hormone imbalance brain, not the disappearance of one of your partner’s, not even the fact that you have to spend time without her whenever you even just have to run to the shops, leaving her with Ben; none of that could stop you and Ben from loving her more. She’s got Ben’s smile, and your nose, but somehow, apart from the colour which is all yours, she’s got Roger’s eyes, you’d both know them anywhere.

Billie Meddows Taylor-Jones is treated like a princess, and counselling really helps you, and Ben takes time off, and it’s jarring to realise, just shy of her first birthday, that at this point you’re just a happy family. It hurts, at first, Roger’s still meant to be here, meant to be part of this, and you know when he comes back -  _because he_ will _, he_ has to - he’ll fit right in where he belongs with you and Ben. And then it hurts less and less, because his return is inevitable and Ben love you, and you both still love Roger, and you know that he’s going to love and adore Billie when he meets her.

When Roger wakes in the future in the park next, and it’s always some grubby, urban park that’s littered with cigarette butts, he lets himself get his bearings before his whole world comes crashing down around him. He doesn’t know the year, is too afraid to check, just sprints to where he hopes you still live; the flat you had bought together.

Your names are on the list of buzzers, and he presses it and waits with baited breath. When your voice crackles over the speakers, tentatively asking who it is, all he needs to say is two words.

“I’m back.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting on the eighth floor, but when he knocks, he hears footsteps and then hesitation. You open the door slowly, hesitantly, and he hates the expression that you wear whenever he comes back, like you can’t quite believe he’s real. But then his gaze slips to the toddler in your arms and  _oh fuck he’s been gone for so long_.

“Ben’s at the shops.” Is the first thing you say and he wants to kiss you so bad, but he’s absolutely frozen, just gazing in the awe at the little girl frowning with intensity up at him. “Hey Bandit, do you recognise him?” You asked gently, voice light though you’re already sniffling with tears. The girl -  _Bandit, Billie_ , his Billie - reaches up like she’s holding something, wiggling her thumbs, and you laugh softly, “that’s right, he is from mummy’s phone, do you know who he is?” You asked fondly, and Roger’s heart is in his throat as the little girl’s whole face lights up as she looks to you for confirmation.

“Daddy!”

It takes all of Roger’s self control not to swear in front of- in front of his daughter. It’s as if you can see him repress the urge and you look both thankful and amused.

“That’s right, that’s your daddy.” You say gently, and immediately the little girl reaches out insistently for Roger, frowning and frustrated when he just looks back at her, beaming with tears in his eyes. When she makes an angry noise you finally chuckle, gesturing him forward, and he does. Grinning, quietly laughing, he obliges the demanding little girl when she reaches for his face. Far more pleased, she pats his head with determination.

“ _Luh-vu much_!” She says brightly, before kissing his forehead. Roger just looks up at you, eyes wide and adoring and confused. Billie looks very pleased with herself.

You invite Roger in, and Billie scampers back to where she’s got a tea party set up, and you and Roger curl up on the sofa to watch as she builds a whole universe in her mind. It feels like nothing’s changed. When he asks quietly about what had happened at the door, you pull your phone from your pocket and he drapes an arm around you, pulling you close to better see the screen. When it lights up, your lock screen shows a photo of you Ben and Roger from a few years ago.

“Billie likes to ask about who people are, especially in photos, and we have lots of you around because of course,” Roger presses a kiss to your temple at that, you let yourself sink into his embrace, just a little more, “and so whenever she asked about you, we’d always,” you choked up a little at the memory, looking at Billie rather than Roger, “we’d always tell her that that was her daddy, and that he loved her very much, and then she’d get a kiss on the forehead.” You laughed gently, and Roger swore gently under his breath, unable to help himself, unable to react in any other way.

“My kid,  _my daughter_.” He half laughed, Billie was almost the spitting image of you, and he already adored her.

When Ben gets home, Roger practically bolts at him once Ben’s put down the groceries. Ben actually spins him, kisses him so passionately when he puts Roger back down that it might have made you blush if they weren’t also both yours, though the moment is broken by the patter of Billie’s eager footsteps as she joins the men, hitting at Ben’s thigh.

“Spin!” She cries, and Ben steps back from Roger, elated to oblige his little girl. Roger’s heart aches at the sight of Ben’s smile, knowing just how much he’s missed, but then Billie’s reaching out for him, asking him to spin her too, so young and bright and she loves and trusts him already because both you and Ben had made sure he’d fit right back in to your family.

“Hey Bandit, guess what.” He grinned once he’d stopped spinning her, and she gave him a bright, curious look. “I love you very much,” he announced brightly, before pressing an obnoxiously loud kiss to her forehead, and she was giggling loudly, a sound fondly reminiscent of you, before she repeated the gesture back to him. He looks over to where Ben’s joined you, both standing by the couch, both looking a little like you can’t believe your eyes, but it’s good this time. None of you can stop smiling.


	9. that fools should be so deep-contemplative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bohemian Rhapsody is still a thing in this universe. Yes, Ben’s in it. Yes, it’s weird for him. And for you. And your daughter misses Roger, but it’s hard to explain to a four-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for AGES, well the first paragraph has, and the idea’s been sitting in my brain for ages too. it’s sort of a companion piece to ‘the motley fool thus morals on the time’ but also is a continuation on ‘the in between moments’ with the daughter established there; Billie Meddows Taylor-Jones. both titles regarding fools are taken from Act 2 Scene 7 of As You Like It, for those who wanted to know. lemme know what you think, im not super crash hot on it.

It’s as if the universe realises that having Roger with you and Ben while Ben’s filming  _Bohemian Rhapsody_  would be weird and a conflict of interest, so when Billie’s four, Roger disappears for almost another two years, and filming begins mere days later. 

Roger, present day Roger, remembers Ben vaguely, remember the two of you trying to find him, asking him a few strange questions before you both realise that he doesn’t know nor remember anything. Ben apologises, Roger shrugs it off easily. He mirrors Roger’s mannerism’s like he’s know the man all his life, and it’s unsurprising when he gets the part.

“Why are you doing this?” Ben had expected you to be happy for him, that some part of him was keeping Roger with them when he couldn’t be here. But it just  _hurts_. He can’t give you an answer, not one with words; he can’t bring himself to say that reliving parts of stories he knows like the back of his hand makes him feel a little less like he’d lost one of the people he loves the most. He doesn’t know how to explain that to you when he can’t even articulate it to himself.

Billie doesn’t understand. She’s too young. She doesn’t understand where Roger’s gone.

“He was  _just here_ ,” she’s demanding, with little hands clenched into fists. He makes the  _best_  French toast -  _though you’re the one who taught him how_ \- and it’s all she wants to eat right now. “He was  _here_ , where is daddy?” She’s scowling, looking a little like Ben as she does so, which would be cute if it wasn’t heartbreaking.

“Bandit, we’ve told you daddy goes away sometimes-”

“ _No_.” She’s too young to know that trying to deny the universe doesn’t work. With Ben and the movie and now this, she hasn’t been so up in arms about Roger’s leaving in over a month so you’re not sure what’s changed, but you feel his absence like a gaping hole in your heart. 

“Come on cutie,” Ben scoops Billie into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple as she squirms, “we’re gonna have a cafe breakie, and when daddy comes back, the first thing he’ll do is make you special French toast.” He murmurs, turning Billie away from where you were trying to keep yourself centered and not breaking down. 

“With the sugar?” She asks, voice so damn hopeful, and Ben laughs, warm and kind.

“With the sugar.” He agrees, and she’s cheering, in equal parts for a special cafe breakfast, and for the promise of French toast, not knowing it could be months or even years before it’s fulfilled. 

When they get back, Billie’s scampering back to her room to get ready for pre-school and you’re in the bathroom, trying to muffle your sobs. Ben presses a kiss to your shoulder, wrapping you up in a hug from behind, and when you tell him you get it, you think you understand why he’s doing the movie, he holds you a little tighter.

The Roger that exists in 2018 isn’t the same Roger who you and Ben love, but damn if he doesn’t sound like it. It’s easy enough for Ben to give a shallow look to the man who looks like Santa and be reminded clearly that this isn’t his partner, can even take direction and advise from him fairly well, but every so often he’ll say something in a way that’s all too familiar, and Ben has to stop himself from replying in a way that’s  _completely inappropriate_ for their level of working friendship. 

You come to the set on occasion, usually when Roger’s not around, no matter what you hear from Ben, you know even hearing him speak will hurt your heart. You both think it’s for the best to keep Billie out of all of this, away from the movie, and away from the film industry in general, despite the rest of the cast dying to meet her.

Production, for all the emotional turmoil it may have caused you and Ben internally, went smoothly, and even by the end the two of you could joke about it, compare Roger’s stories to the versions on screen, and even some of his mannerisms entered Ben’s usual manner. It was strange, a little twisted, a little indescribable, but somehow you were both coping. In fact, with the projected success of the film, you were thriving.

[ _How have we never met your daughter?_ ] Lucy’s the first to respond to the message Ben sends to the cast group chat telling them all that you’d be bringing Billie to the premiere. It hadn’t taken much convincing on your part; Ben had wanted his family there, and they could explain to Billie after, but the film meant a lot to him and he wanted you both there.

[ _I have._ ] Joe, who had been getting on with Ben since essentially day one since the cast first met, before filming had even begun, who had given Billie her all important nickname, could be insufferably smug. At least over messenger. 

[ _like i said before we’re keeping her out of the film industry_ ] [ _Mostly_ ] Ben sends, frowning as he looks over to where Billie’s very patiently getting her hair done in front of the mirror. She looks at him and gives a nervous smile, and both you and Ben assure her that she’s doing great.

[ _she’s gonna be so adorable_ ] Rami was, of course, correct. 

Your little family would not be out-done on the red carpet. Ben was in all black, sleek with his sheer black shirt -  _which you had an unholy appreciation for, and definitely asked him to keep_ \- and you wore your most flattering black dress to match, and most importantly, Billie was in a little, custom made gold suit, which she chose herself. By her logic, she already had dresses, none of them as fancy as the one she  _could_ get made, but her dad’s wearing a  _suit_ and she doesn’t have one of those, and she can make it her  _favourite_ colour and-

The cast almost loses their damn minds the moment they spot the three of you, and Billie’s an instant hit.

They fawn over her, the way she smiles, the way she poses, the way she scowls and turns away when people start calling you and Ben over for photos. 

“It’s okay, Bandit, these are photographers, these aren’t like the paparazzi,” Ben’s voice is gentle but he’s still picking her up; something about it seems to calm them both down, even if Billie sometimes likes to insist she’s getting to old to be carried like this.

Ben does a few interviews with Billie in his arms, and some of the other cast members, especially Joe, take turns watching her as different photo opportunities arise. He’s really quite fond of her, and there’s some very sweet footage of the two of them dancing on the purple carpet, while you watch on fondly in the background of one of Ben’s interviews.

And it’s going fine, it’s going  _perfectly_ , the cast have just had their big photos taken, and a few with Roger and Brian, and then Ben’s heading back to you, and Roger’s gaze follows.

You’ve spoken to him maybe twice tonight, but here, now, you realise this is the first time he’s gotten a good look at Billie. When Ben comes to a stop beside you, she leans against Ben, one arm wrapped around his leg where she’s yawning, flagging after all the attention and exertion, looking so young and so tired. 

Roger looks like he’s seen sunlight for the first time in years.

And then he’s looking up, shocked, awed even as he regards you and Ben in a new light, and tentatively he makes his way towards you both. 

There’s a tension, an uncertainty as you and Ben watch him get closer, and Ben picks up Billie, lets her lean her tired little head against his shoulder, and you give an uncertain smile.

“She’s so little,” Roger laughs softly, not what either of you had expected, and you’re surprised to see tears forming in his eyes, “I forgot how little she was.” And then he frowns a little, expression dropping as he looks to you and Ben; he looks at you like he knows who you are, and you have to look away, you’d spent too much time on your makeup for it to be ruined by tears. “I forgot.” You never realised how sharp a soft voice could be against your fragile heart.

“Daddy?” Billie yawns through the question, almost napping against Ben’s shoulder with her eyes closed, only able to hear Roger’s familiar voice where it hadn’t changed in decades. “Can we have French toast?” 

“Tomorrow, Billie Goat,” Roger half laughs, but he’s crying as he watches her nod in unquestioning agreement. He looks to you and Ben both again, but there’s no words, nothing he can bring himself to say to fill the silence, the space between them, the  _years_ that have all come back to him without warning.

“Man, I don’t know what to say,” Ben fills the pause with honesty, holding his daughter a little tighter, and Roger gives him an understanding smile, claps you on the shoulder, though his face falls where he sees you’ve been crying despite your best efforts. And he wants to comfort you, to hold you and Ben and promise it’s going to be okay, but he’s not the same man you love, and here and now, he’s not allowed to touch you like he does in his memories.

“We have a premiere to get to,” he says with a smile instead, and you nod quickly, dabbing your tears away careful as you could with the back of your hand. After a pause, Roger cracks a grin, new and familiar all at once, and it almost  _hurts_ , “now I know, I think I’d be ashamed if anyone else played me.” He admitted, with a half smile.

“I don’t think anyone else could,” you bring yourself to smile, and Ben shoots you a fond, grateful smile as Roger nods in amused agreement. Another moment passes, and Roger looks from you to Ben and Billie, and gives a small smile.

“I’ll come home soon.” He’s so gentle about it, but then he’s leaving as his words sink in and you realise what he’s saying. Ben’s biting back muttered curses where he can feel tears forming in his eyes, the two of you watching Roger leave.

“ _Elusive bastard,_ ” he mutters under his breath, and you’d admonish him for his language around Billie, but she’s fast asleep, and after all, he’s right, “Christ, I miss him.” But your heart already felt ten times lighter, and you took Ben’s free hand, smiling at him.

“Yeah, but he’ll be home soon.”


End file.
